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After school my father would take us down to the Hawkesbury. Fishing from the middens that jutted out into the water he would tell us stories about the Aboriginals who had created them over thousands of years by discarding shells as they ate. He thought they were superior; their ability to survive second to none.
We would hitch rides on boats and barges up past Bar Island with ‘Lofty’, a river-man who taught us where to collect mud oysters and how to open them in the hot coals at the edge of the fire.
The first glimpse of the river always took my breath away.
- Susan J White